A Fig for All the Devils

by C.S. Fritz

Happiness is a fickle lover; if loved too tightly, she often grows weary and finds a way to end herself in search of a new host. But, if happiness is not one’s center and merely a product of one’s venture, then she can be found seemingly everywhere you look, like fresh flowers perched at the tips of weeds.

“Wait, wait wait…what am I doing?” The boy shouted. “You were there. I can’t believe this. Why in the fucking world would I listen to you?! You’re the fucking Grim Reaper, you’re the epitome of darkness, you’re Darth Vader, Mike Myers, Jason Voorhees, you are evil!!!” “Evil?” The Reaper called back, a noticeable change in tone. “You’re wrong, Sonny. Would you call the blade in surgery ‘evil’ even though it cuts away the disease? Would you call lightning ‘evil’ even though it brings with it the rain to feed your crops? Sonny, I am not evil. I am the reaction to your world’s evil. I exist, because your sin exists.”